


Smoke on the Horizon

by moo_shu



Series: Moth To A Flame [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Also what's up with Morgana, And now so does a bunch of knights, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, guess we'll find out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:20:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27561397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moo_shu/pseuds/moo_shu
Summary: Merlin would learn the control he desperately needed, and Arthur would get to observe some magic up close and personal. It was a win-win.
Series: Moth To A Flame [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1990852
Comments: 6
Kudos: 70





	1. Chapter 1

Morgana is filthy, a little too thin, and very obviously in a state of shock. 

But, she allows herself to be wrapped up in Merlin’s black cloak and bundled onto one of their remaining horses. Arthur pulls himself up behind her, and the seven of them start the long journey back to Camelot.

They’ve had no human casualties, but two of their horses had been slain during the fight, and they hadn’t been able to snag any from Morgause’s followers - they’d all bolted before the battle had finished. Sir Gavin had opted to walk, and so had Merlin. Which was probably for the best, since while the gold had mostly faded from his eyes, the skin of Merlin’s chest and neck still whirled in a red-orange pattern.

He’s putting off heat like a towering bonfire now as well, and the horses shy away from his touch like a hot brand. Arthur doesn’t blame them either - he’d made the mistake of grabbing Merlin’s arm after the fighting had ended, and can still feel the tingle of heat against his palm. At least the smoke-breath had stopped soon after they’d recovered Morgana from her prison.

Despite this, Arthur leads them through the forest for a good three hours before deciding they’ve made it far enough away from potential backup to rest easy. He’s absolutely _exhausted,_ and can see the same exhaustion reflected in his knights’ eyes. Even Morgana is radiating tiredness, which she has always been careful to hide, even in their youth. 

In direct contrast, Merlin - the pillock - doesn’t even seem winded. He’d been able to keep up with the horses easily, when even Gavin (a fully trained knight!) had started to lag. The swirling lava-like pattern bubbled sluggishly underneath his skin, and Arthur wonders if it’s lending Merlin more than just a bit of heat. Perhaps his magic questions should’ve revolved more around Merlin’s actual capabilities, and less around toads. 

“We rest here for the night.” Arthur declares, glancing around the clearing they’d stopped in. It’s a bit cramped for all seven of them, but is hidden far enough off the main path and surrounded by enough of the thick underbrush that they should remain undisturbed. “Set camp. We’ll ride again at first light.”

Camp is set up hastily. Despite the time of year, they forgo pitching tents, and simply tie the horses up and spread their bedrolls out in a rough approximation of a circle.

The heat from Merlin’s skin is bright and warm, and Arthur thinks it would be a kind of a waste of time to make his men pitch a proper winter camp when they’re all this exhausted, and their local sorcerer doesn’t seem to be cooling off any time soon. The magic would keep them warm enough overnight.

As the knights shuffle around and order themselves for night watch, Arthur leads Morgana to his own bedroll and sits her down on it. She’s been trembling their whole ride, eyes wide and fixated solely on Merlin’s fiery form. 

“Morgana,” he whispers, catching her attention. It takes her a second, but she eventually tears her gaze away from Merlin to look at him. And, and _gods,_ he was going to kill Morgause for what she’d done. 

Morgana had never, not once in their entire lives, looked at him like she was looking at him now. Her eyes were wide and glassy, her face smeared with dirt. She was not unhealthily thin, but was certainly thinner than she had been before she’d been kidnapped. Beneath Arthur’s hand, her shoulders trembled. 

“Morgana,” he repeats, unable to keep the emotion fully out of his voice, “You’re safe now. We’ll get you home. You’ll be alright.” 

Tears well up in her eyes, but they do not fall. It calms something inside him to see that despite everything she must’ve gone through, there was still some of that stubbornness alive that he’d come to except. “I–” she starts, eyes flickering back towards Merlin.

Arthur squeezes her shoulder a bit, thinking about how to broach the subject. Magic was undoubtedly going to be a touchy topic for her now. But, she’d always been so vehemently and openly against Uther’s stance on magic...she wouldn’t turn Merlin in, of that, Arthur was certain.

“A lot has happened.” He starts, “And we can discuss it later, once you’re home safe. But the important thing is, whatever happened to you, whatever Morgause has done...you don’t have to be afraid of Merlin. He won’t hurt you.”

Something brittle and sharp flashes through Morgana’s eyes, and a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob chokes her. “No, of course he wouldn’t. He’s Merlin, after all.”

“I promise we’ll talk more once we’re back home,” he continues. “And I’ll have the idiot come explain himself too. For now though, here–” he shrugs out of his own cloak, passing it over, “–get some rest. We’re about a day’s journey from the city, if we ride hard tomorrow.”

Stealing one last hard look at Merlin (who is very clearly doing his best to ignore everyone present, while at the same time remaining centrally located, so as to best distribute the heat), Morgana accepts the second cloak and arranges herself on his bedroll, turning her back so she faces towards the forest and away from them all.

It hurts to see her like that. But, only time could begin to heal the wrongs that had been done to her. All he could do for now was get her home, and make sure she knew she was both safe and loved.

Sighing, Arthur scrubs at his face. He forces himself to his feet, wobbling over to sit himself down next to Merlin. 

Here the heat was the most intense, rolling from his manservants shoulders in fidgety waves. Brilliant splashes of color swirled beneath his skin, creeping up his neck and dancing along his jawline. Sometime during their journey Merlin had rolled his sleeves up, exposing the fiery pattern enveloping his arms and hands.

Clearing his throat, Arthur attempts to sort through his thoughts. He knows...well, probably, maybe, perhaps, he shouldn’t have outed Merlin like that to the knights. 

Ok, not probably. He shouldn’t have done it. At least, not without discussing it with Merlin beforehand. Arthur had never had stellar impulse control though, and it had seemed like such a great idea at the time. Use magic, find Morgana. And it had worked! They _had_ found her, after months of fruitless searching. 

“Thank you,” he finally settles on stiffly, watching out of the corner of his eyes as Merlin curls his legs up, hugging his knees. The expression on his face is carefully blank, and Arthur can’t decide if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that his eyes have remained their normal bright blue. “And, I’m sorry.”

The muscles in Merlin’s jaw clench minutely. “I’m glad Morgana is safe.”

“You’ll be safe too.” He blurts out, “The knights– I mean, everyone wanted her back. No one will, I mean,” clearing his throat again, Arthur tries to wrangle his thoughts into some semblance of an order, “The only thing my father will know or even care about is that Morgana is back home safe.”

Merlin doesn’t react to his stumbling words, remaining quiet. He is quiet for so long, in fact, that Arthur almost makes a joke about falling asleep with his eyes open. And yes, ok, he’s not the most tactful person under stress.

But eventually, Merlin lets out a deep sigh, dropping his head to hide between his knees. “Get some rest Arthur, we’ve got a lot of traveling to do tomorrow.”

\---

Normally, Arthur likes to take the middle watch. Middle watch is the hardest, in his opinion, because you get a couple hours of sleep, have to wake up and be coherent enough for your shift, then sleep for a few more hours before you’re up for the day. Having to get up halfway through the night always sucks, but he can handle it fine and would rather be the one doing it instead of forcing his knights to do it all the time.

He’d been rather preoccupied the night before though, and hadn’t paid much attention to how they’d been ordered for shifts. Consequently, it seems like his knights have left him out of the rotation, and he’s not woken up until the sun has just barely started to rise and the shuffling of bedrolls and horses hooves disturb his sleep.

The knights are rather subdued as they climb aboard their mounts. They keep their gazes off Merlin, whispering amongst themselves just out of Arthur’s range of hearing. Arthur would think him unbothered by it all, except for the fact that fire still burned beneath his skin, just as brightly as it had during the previous day’s battle.

Anxiety prickles along his spine. Nothing would happen to Merlin, he would be sure of it.

“Morgana,” he calls, helping her up onto his horse. The knights who are riding (Leon takes the ground this time, as does Merlin again...this time it’s less about the intensity of his heat and more about the fact that all the horses shy away from his touch) assemble in formation around him and Morgana, and they set off. 

Their journey is quiet and tense. A few hours in, they take a short break for food and to stretch their legs. Leon mounts a horse when they resume, and Sir Bedevere takes a turn walking. Unlike Gavin from the night before and Leon from this morning though, Bedevere keeps pace with Merlin, who is walking to the right and just slightly behind Arthur’s own horse.

“So,” Bedevere starts mildly as they resume their march. “What exactly is a sorcerer doing living in Camelot for so many years? Hardly seems like the most well-thought out choice.”

Arthur had asked him the same thing once, although he hadn’t known about the magic then. _I was looking for somewhere I belonged,_ had been Merlin’s answer. Which, thinking about it in the new context, didn’t actually make any sense. Why would a sorcerer come to the kingdom with the strictest laws against magic, if they were looking for a place to build a life?

“...I suppose it isn’t quite common knowledge, but Gaius is my uncle.” Merlin starts after a pause, which isn’t news to him. He’d learned that piece of information back in the first year they’d known each other, when Hunith had come to request help with Ealdor’s bandit problem. 

“But your mother is still alive and well, and lives in Cenred’s kingdom. Why not stay with her?” Bedevere counters, kicking at a loose stone on their path. 

“Why not go anywhere that’s _not_ Camelot, in the first place?” Sir Artemis chimes in, “I hear both King Odin and King Rodor have favorable views of sorcery, not to mention the esteemed positions King Cenred gives to powerful magicians that pledge their loyalty to him.” 

Merlin scowls. A gentle breeze flutters through the trees, smelling sharp like a flash of lightning. “And what would those ‘esteemed positions’ be?” He bites out roughly, “Mages to fight alongside his knights on his quests to conquer other kingdoms - Cenred wants sorcerers who would kill for him on command, and the other kings aren’t much different. I’d prefer not to become a tool for a ruler who can’t even be bothered to defend their borders from endless bandit raids.” 

“It doesn’t tempt you at all?” Bedevere pushes hotly, crossing his arms as he goes on. “The chance to freely use your...to practice your craft without the threat of death?”

Unexpectedly, Merlin snorts out a laugh. It’s not a very nice laugh though, and the patterns on his skin flare brighter momentarily, before retreating back down to a more sluggish glow. “You think there wouldn’t be death threats involved, just because I’d be in a kingdom that wouldn’t execute me _just_ for having magic?”

Which is an interesting thought. Arthur had never given much thought to how sorcerers in other kingdoms might be treated, beyond keeping tabs on where it was and wasn’t banned. 

Noble-affiliated sorcerers didn’t crop up too often, and when they did, they tended to stick within their kingdoms borders and away from fights. Arthur wasn’t too sure what those types did exactly, but he thinks maybe it has something to do with communing with the land for better harvests, or something like that.

Battle-tested mages were even rarer, and were always a devastating force to be reckoned with. Visions of swords melting and mutating, twisting back to bite their owners flash through his mind, and a shiver runs down his spine. Yes, Arthur would be praying his thanks to whatever god sent Merlin this way for a long time.

“Come now, Bedevere,” Arthur interjects, “We’ve all known Merlin for many years now. Even if there weren’t any death threats involved, do you really take him as the kind of man that would raze a village just because his king ordered him to?”

Bedevere hems and haws for a bit, but eventually ends with, “No, I suppose you’re right.”

And for a while, that seems to be the end of it. Bedevere backs off, falling backwards to trail next to Gavin and Artemis’ horses. The three whisper together as they continue to trot along, but the air is much lighter, and the near-oppressive heat Merlin had been giving off dies down to a more comfortable spring-like warmth. 

Honestly, it’s a bit relieving one of his knights had brought the topic up on their own. Arthur had been planning a long lecture once they were closer to the city, on how no one was to even think the word ‘magic’ once they passed the walls, but this made things a bit easier. 

He was still going to lecture them, of course. He’d put Merlin in this position, so he would do everything in his power to make sure it didn’t come back around to bite him in the ass. It was just, maybe he wouldn’t have to be as forceful as he’d first been imagining. 

“...What about the Druids?” Morgana asks, perhaps ten minutes later. Her voice is carefully guarded, and she keeps her eyes straight-forward as she speaks.

“What about the Druids?” Arthur questions, not really seeing how they fit into a conversation about kings and sorcerers. The Druids notoriously kept to themselves, not siding with any one kingdom or king. Their allegiance was to themselves, and royal authority had never once superseded that.

“Couldn’t you have gone to live with them?” She continues stiffly.

And oh, that was a pretty good point. The Druids would have gladly opened their arms to Merlin. A natural born sorcerer? Yeah, that sounds like something they’d be all over. 

The temperature spikes, and the gentle breeze from before picks back up again - only this time, it’s not so gentle. It’s not forceful enough to be considered a gale, but it does whip around them in an almost angry manor. 

“Woah!” Arthur calls, tugging on his reins. His horse dances nervously in place, wickering and snorting as they stop suddenly. Behind him, he can hear the other horses doing the same. “...Merlin?”

Merlin takes a few deliberately calming breaths. The winds die down. “Me and the Druids don’t get along so well.” He bites out, and then picks his pace up so he’s now walking in the front.

\---

Arthur does end up giving a small lecture, when they’re about an hour out. 

They hadn’t much liked it, but all four of his knights had agreed to omit the details of how they had found Morgana. Arthur is sure his father won’t ask too many questions.

Merlin isn’t so sure though. Or, more realistically, he’s more anxious about the possibility of being outed as a sorcerer. He hasn’t said, but it’s not a hard conclusion to come to. 

His anxiety was continuing to manifest in an inconvenient way - the closer they got to the city, the brighter his skin seemed to glow. He couldn’t seem to force the fire away this time either, not like he’d done in Arthur’s rooms that day they had their conversation. 

In the end, Merlin is wrapped in Sir Leon’s cloak, and his neckerchief is pulled up and wrapped securely around his lower face. His eyes remain visible, but he’s (thankfully) able to keep the molten gold out of them. There are perhaps a few flecks that shimmer through them now and then, but those are easily brushed off as a trick of the light.

As expected, Uther hardly pays him any attention anyways. He’s completely focused on Morgana, and doesn’t even spare Arthur’s manservant a second glance.

Uther ushers her into the castle, calling for servants to draw a bath and bring food to her chambers, leaving Arthur and his knights to pass their horses off to the waiting stable boys. “Get some rest, and take tomorrow off,” Arthur calls to his knights. “Merlin, with me.” He continues, sternly, and then sets off for the physicians chambers. 

Gaius has more than likely been summoned to Morgana’s rooms at the moment, but there’s no way Arthur is leaving his idiot of a manservant alone in _Uther Penndragon’s_ castle while he was lit up like a fire pit. 

He hears two sets of footsteps start up behind him though, and when he looks back Leon is trailing behind the bundled up Merlin. Narrowing his eyes, Arthur says, “Don’t worry, Sir Leon. I’ll make sure your cloak is returned safely. You’re free to go.”

“With all due respect,” Leon replied calmly, “I’m not coming along for my cloak.”

Arthur stares the knight down for a moment, before giving a nod and turning back around. Leon was a loyal knight, and his concern was valid. It would probably be best in the long run for him to witness a safe interaction with a glowing sorcerer - it would go a long way in calming his fears over the evils of magic. 

Luckily for them, it seems that most of the castle has been alerted to Morgana’s return. The corridors are empty, and they don’t run into anyone on their way to the physicians rooms. 

As expected, Gaius is not there when they arrive. Arthur corrals Merlin onto the patient's cot in the main room, and then commands him to strip.

“W-what?” Merlin squeaks, drawing the cloak tighter around himself, eyes wide as they jump between him and Leon.

Annoyance sparks in Arthur, and he grits his teeth. “Shirt off.” He bites out, “I can’t very well examine you with it on, now can I?” Ok, he definitely could have worded that better, but really, what had Merlin expected? That Arthur would just let him sit around as-is?

Arthur...didn’t know anything about magic. 

Well, that was a lie. He knew _some_ things about magic now, thanks to Merlin. 

Like, most sorcerers needed spells, but not Merlin. Or, most sorcerers couldn’t light their skin on fire, except Merlin could. 

So really, the knowledge he did have was effectively useless and mostly centered around the fact that his manservant was an outlier among sorcerers, and apparently didn’t follow any of the normal rules. So, what better way to gain knowledge of said outlier, than to examine the anomaly first-hand?

He’s seen Merlin’s magic skin before, of course, but only snatches of it on his neck, arms, and hands. Maybe...maybe he could learn something, if he could see more of the source? It made sense in his head at least.

To learn more about fighting, you studied the body. How it moved, how it functioned, and what its limitations and weak points were. To learn more about magic, maybe it would help to get a closer look at whatever this flame-skin was.

“And what will seeing me naked tell you?” Merlin snips, tugging the cloak more securely around his body.

The dull beginnings of a stress headache start to pound behind Arthur’s eyes. “I don’t know,” he bites back, sounding a bit more defeated than he means to, “But I don’t know anything about this–” he waves his arms around, indicating _your weirdass flaming skin,_ “–And apparently, neither do you. That doesn’t change the fact that we’ve got to get a handle on things, otherwise, it won’t take long before someone spots you. Which would be–”

Arthur doesn’t let himself finish that thought, out loud or in his head. 

_...She will rot for all eternity below us, condemned to a lifetime of darkness..._

It wouldn’t be ‘she’ though, if Merlin was discovered. It would be ‘he’ and there wouldn’t be a single thing Arthur could do to stop it. He would _not_ let that happen.

Beneath the fine red of the cloak, Merlin’s shoulders slump. “...Fine,” he mumbles, “But keep your comments to yourself. Not everyone trains themselves to take beatings and wear armour the weight of a cow everyday.” Grumbling to himself, Merlin unclips the clasp of the cloak, shrugging it off his shoulders as he reaches up to slide the neckerchief off his face. With another fluid motion, his shirt follows.

As expected, the bright glow of his skin extends across his whole chest and shoulders, casting deep shadows across all the little odds and ends scattered around the physician’s chambers. But it doesn’t stop at his chest, also dipping down his stomach and past the waistband of his trousers. Which makes sense, if Arthur thinks about it...why _wouldn’t_ the magic cover his whole body?

Putting those thoughts aside for the moment, Arthur refocuses back on the problem at hand. Is there anything newly visible that looks like it might provide a hint of what was going on, and how to control it? Yes, in fact, there was. 

While the lava-like pattern swirled around Merlin’s skin in, well, a lava-like pattern of deep reds, shining oranges, and sparkling golds, it almost seemed to converge in the rough approximation of a spiral in the upper left section of his chest. 

Right where the heart would be, if Arthur knew anything about the human body. Which he did, considering one had to know the weak points of the body, in order to be an effective knight. And the heart certainly counted as a weak point.

“Hmm,” he hums, leaning forward to examine the spot more closely. So, he was right in that there _was_ something new to learn. The only issue is...what did it mean?

“Does that not...hurt?” Leon asks hesitantly, and Arthur almost startles. He’d nearly forgotten the knight had tagged along in the first place. 

Leon had positioned himself behind Merlin when they’d first arrived, across from Arthur with his back against the wall and hand resting on the hilt of his sword. It’s exactly the proper response a knight should have when confronted with someone they weren’t sure was an enemy or not, and Arthur would be proud of his response if it wasn’t _Merlin_ the knight was being so cautious of. 

He got it, he really did. Magic, sorcery, blah, blah, blah. But this was Merlin, for god’s sake! Leon had been watching Merlin trip over his own two feet for just as long as Arthur had. He’s crept around to stand beside Arthur now, a look of intense concentration on his face as he studied Merlin’s skin. An improvement, albeit, a small one.

“Uhh,” Merlin stutters, crossing his arms in self consciousness, “No? I mean, it doesn’t feel any different to me. Well I mean, not really. It just feels like anytime I use magic.”

Scowling at the obstruction, Arthur reaches forwards and tugs his arms back out of the way. “Arms down.” 

Merlin bats his hands away, fidgeting around on the cot. Interestingly enough, the swirling fire of his skin reacts to his emotions, flickering brighter as he moves around. The brightness seems to originate from the heart-like swirl, pulsing outwards to cover the rest of his body. 

“Hmm,” Crossing his arms, Arthur backs up a few steps so that he can see Merlin in full. “I have absolutely no idea what any of this means.” 

_Thwack!_

The sound of something solid hitting the ground startles all three of them, and Arthur whips around to face the now-open doorway faster than he’s ever moved before.

Standing in the doorway is Gaius. The old man has an intense expression of shock on his face, that is well on its way to becoming horror. His arms are held out stiffly in front of him, as if he were holding something. A basin sits at his feet, empty of whatever liquid it had previously held. 

“Oh shit,” he hears Merlin say from behind him, and _oh shit_ indeed. They’d hardly been back an hour, and Merlin had already been revealed. Except...narrowing his eyes, Arthur straightens up and marches over towards the open doorway.

In a swift move, he (gently, he didn’t actually want to hurt the old physician) ushers Gaius the rest of the way inside and kicks the door closed. This time he makes sure to lock it, before turning back around to face the rest of the room’s occupants. 

Gaius, he knew, used to practice magic. His father had mentioned it once in passing, commenting on the pureness of Gaius’s character for being able to purge the evils of sorcery from his body, and continue living to such a respectable old age. 

And now, Gaius, the former sorcerer, when confronted with a current sorcerer and two knights, was focused on the knights with an expression of panic plastered to his face, and _not_ said glowing sorcerer.

“Merlin,” Arthur starts, “I’m going to go out on a limb here, and assume that Gaius has been in the know for much longer than myself.”

Bright red flares to life on his manservants face. “Er, well...you’re not wrong?” 

In that moment Arthur learns exactly why his father had kept Gaius around, despite his views on the old man's past. His gaze sharpens as he collects himself impressively fast, darting between the three of them, before it hardens into something serious. “Merlin,” he intones, “When were you planning on sharing with me that the prince and one of his most trusted knight’s was aware of your...situation?”

Heat and light flash across the room, and an embarrassed puff of smoke escapes Merlin’s throat. “Surprise…?”

Sighing heavily, Gaius moves forward, bringing expert physicians hands up to examine Merlin’s swirling skin. “Well, let’s take a look and see what…ack!” he yelps, snapping his fingers back when sparks dance up and lick at his hands. “Oh my boy,” he continues after a short moment, “What have you gotten yourself into now?”

Merlin shifts uncomfortably on the cot. “It just happened,” he pouts, “We were in the forest and then...Well, I felt Morgana’s presence to the north. Then we were fighting, and after the fight was over, I couldn't er, couldn’t get _this_ to stop.”

Gaius’ face is carefully blank as he takes this information in. “Hm.” He hums contemplatively, walking slowly around the cot. “And what spell were you attempting to cast?” 

“Er,” Merlin stutters, “...None?”

 _Spell?_ Arthur thinks, shifting on his feet as he casts his mind backwards to the forest. Merlin hadn’t cast any spell (that he’d heard, at least) and anyways, he didn’t need them in the first place. As a former practitioner himself, Arthur had been expecting Gaius to know about that little quirk. Especially considering Merlin was his nephew - had Hunith perhaps never mentioned anything about Merlin’s magic to her brother? Had Merlin himself never mentioned anything to Gaius, for as long as he’d lived here?

“I can’t help you if you lie, Merlin.” Gaius sighs tiredly as he turns and starts rifling through the books on one of his many shelves. “Small spells are easy enough to master, and experienced sorcerers can get away with performing them without an incantation. But, ah-” he says, snatching an old, heavily illustrated book up, “But whatever you’ve done here is not a small spell.”

Arthur watches as a shadow passes along Merlin’s face. “...Bryne.” He says carefully, eyeing Gaius as he flips through the book. “The spell was bryne.”

“Hm.” Gaius hums, “And just what were you trying to set on fire then?” Arthur can practically see the waves of confusion radiating off Leon, and he’s sure he looks much the same. Merlin hadn’t said any type of spell in the forest, of that he was sure. And he certainly had never needed a spell to light himself on fire before now. What was Gaius talking about?

A sharp look from his manservant keeps him quiet though, and he watches as the physician slips a loose paper from the book, and begins tottering around his workshop collecting different ingredients. 

“Not me,” Merlin mutters under his breath. Louder, he says, “I, er, got spooked during a fight. Tried to set someone’s spear on fire. The next thing I knew I was, uh, like this.”

Gaius seems to accept Merlin’s flimsy excuse for some godforsaken reason, and begins mixing the various herbs and flowers he’d collected in a bowl, grinding them together into a fine powder. “I’ve told you before Merlin, you’ve got to mind yourself and learn some proper control. We _will_ be discussing this later.” 

A sour look overtakes Merlin’s features, and they watch as Gaius tips the powder into a cup. “Here,” he commands, reaching for a flask and pouring water over top. “Drink this, it should help cool you off.” 

Wrinkling his nose, Merlin takes the cup and downs it in one go, nearly choking it back up before he gets to the end of it. “That’s utterly disgusting,” he complains, pushing the cup onto the nearby side table and making a face. 

“It would be significantly less disgusting if you were able to keep yourself under control in the first place.” Gaius snips back.

Merlin scowls, looking like he wants to argue, but right as he opens his mouth his skin sparks brightly. With a gasp, he sways for a brief moment, before all of the fire swirling underneath his skin dims, retreating down his neck and arms and disappearing into the spot on his upper chest. That dims too, after a giving one last bright flare, before it fades completely and Merlin is left once again looking like a normal non-magical person. 

“Guehk,” he moans, eyes unfocused. 

“What was _that?”_ The previously-silent Leon exclaims. He’s inched his way next to Arthur by this point, and his discomfort is almost palatable. Still, he stands tall, taking the situation in with a much more level head than most would. 

Sighing, Gauis reaches over to gently nudge Merlin onto his back. The sorcerer goes down without a fight, his eyes slipping closed and his breathing evening out. “A very powerful sleeping draught,” he replies, looking over at them with shifty-eyes, “Merlin’s issue is that he struggles to release a spell once it’s cast. Knocking him out disrupts the magic, and forces it to end. Not ideal, but it works in a pinch.” 

There’s a lot Arthur wants to say about that, starting with _then why does Merlin catch fire in his sleep_ to _that was pretty fast for a simple sleeping draught._ In the end though, his mind focuses on the one part of what Gaius has said that’s made any bit of sense. “So he really is just a terrible sorcerer then.”

Gaius looks every bit the haggled old man he is. “Terrible in the sense that he has piss-poor control,” he replies sourly, tucking a blanket around Merlin’s sleeping form. “I’ve never met a man blessed with such a strong connection to magic, who simultaneously has such terrible control over the magic he ends up performing. It’s a wonder he’s never cursed himself.” 

“Can that happen?” Leon chimes in curiously, before Arthur can ask himself. Maybe the lava-skin is actually a curse, one that Merlin has unintentionally cast on himself and can’t remove? “Can a...er, sorcerer...curse themselves?” 

“Who knows, with this one.” Gaius grumbles, busying himself with tidying the leftover materials he’d made the sleeping draught with. It only takes him a moment before everything is put back where it belongs, and then he’s turning his sharp gaze on the two of them. “Now, onto more important matters - how exactly did you two come to be aware of Merlin’s situation?”

Arthur’s been expecting this question since he’d registered the old man standing in the doorway. Crossing his arms, he does his best to look serious as he replies, “I caught him doing magic in our tent months ago, while we were out on patrol looking for Morgana.”

“Months ago, oh of course,” Gaius mutters weakly, rubbing at his temples. 

Feeling slightly bad for him, Arthur continues with what he hopes is a small comfort. “He didn’t actually know I’d caught him until recently though, so really it’s only been a small while.” 

From the look on the physician’s face, Arthur doesn’t think that helped. Leon is doing his best to keep a straight face off to the side, but it’s not holding up well. 

“Right,” Gaius starts after a moment of deep breathing. “Well, your father is still expecting me, back in Morgana’s chambers. I’ve only stopped by to pick up a few things. If it’s been months, I’m going to assume no one will be getting burned at the stake anytime soon. For now though, Merlin will be asleep for a couple hours at least, and you all _have_ just gotten back from a long journey. Go get something to eat, and get some rest.”

And with that, both him and Leon are shovelled out the door. With courtly manners, of course, befitting of the crown prince and one of his top knights - this is still Gaius, who remains steadfast and polite even in the most chaotic of circumstances. 

“My lord,” Leon starts, as soon as the door closes behind them and they’re alone in the hallway. “I would just like to say, Merlin is the strangest person I’ve ever met.” His sentence stops abruptly, like he was planning on continuing but decided to stop speaking at the last second. He doesn’t continue though, just gives a sharp nod before pivoting and marching off. 

Arthur doesn’t think he’ll rat Merlin out. Leon had given his word earlier, before they’d reached the castle, and he was a man of his word. He doesn’t think the other knights will say anything either, for similar reasons. The knowledge hardly helps settle his anxiety though, which starts to pick up the further Leon gets.

There isn’t anything he can do about it though, so he does exactly as Gaius recommends and heads to his chambers to pace anxiously around and think himself in circles. Which, ok, wasn’t _exactly_ what Gaius had recommended, but it was close enough. There was no way he’d be able to rest any time soon, and he isn’t hungry enough to go bother the kitchens for a snack. 

He could wait until Merlin brought up his dinner later this evening, which would also allow him some time to figure out why Merlin had decided lying to Gaius was a good idea. The sleeping draught _had_ worked, but the physician’s reasoning hardly made any sense.

If Merlin’s problem was, what did Gaius call it...disrupting the ‘spell’ that had been cast, then firstly, there were certainly easier ways to do it (learning control, for instance, and Arthur didn’t know anything about learning magic, but he did know about mastering skills) and then secondly, the potion Gaius had made would only be a stopgap measure that would eventually become ineffective and would never address the root of the problem. 

The beginnings of a plan of action start to form within his mind, one that involves day trips into the forests surrounding the city and some real, first-hand experience with Merlin’s magic. 

After he’s paced around for another few hours thinking through how to fix Merlin’s little discipline issue, Uther calls for Arthur to hear his report of the mission. 

Honestly, he wasn’t expecting to be called until tomorrow. Morgana has been the only thing on Uther’s mind since she’d been stolen from them, and he’d assumed he wouldn’t be bothered for at least a day. It suits him just as well to get things over with today though - it would just give him more time tomorrow to get started with his new plans.

He somehow manages to make it through his report without incriminating anyone, and hightails it back to his rooms to wait for Merlin to bring him his dinner. He’s nearly bursting at the seams with everything he’s come up with over the past few hours. 

Merlin better be awake enough to register what he says. In the beginning, Arthur had zero knowledge on what it meant to be a sorcerer. He’d never really thought about it, until he’d been forced to think about it. 

About learning spells, or magic lava-skin, or anything. Especially after this last conversation with Gaius though, it’s starting to become clear to Arthur that whatever Merlin is, whether he needs spells or doesn’t need spells, he is not a competent sorcerer. Which is a dangerous thing to be, especially for someone prone to lighting themselves on fire. 

But you see, sorcerer or not, there is only one way to become competent at something: training. And Arthur is a master at training.

It didn’t matter what it was you were trying to learn. It could be swordfighting. It could be mending clothes. It could be magic. In order to get better at whatever it was, you had to practice, practice, practice, until you could exercise the skill on command. 

Gaius had said Merlin had piss-poor control over his magic, despite a strong connection to it. Merlin was uncontrollably setting himself on fire. Therefore if Merlin were to practice setting himself on fire on purpose, until he could turn it on and off on command, then there would never be a risk of him accidentally doing it in view of someone who would have him executed. 

It wouldn’t be too suspicious for the two of them to start taking frequent day trips out into the forests. They did it already, and nobody really ever batted an eye, even if they didn’t come back with anything for the kitchens. 

Instead of chasing rabbits though, they would be finding somewhere secluded for Merlin to safely start practicing his magic. Merlin would learn the control he desperately needed, and Arthur would get to observe some magic up close and personal. It was a win-win.

Unfortunately, it isn’t Merlin that brings him his dinner. “Where is my manservant?” He snaps at the young boy who sets the tray of food down on his table. He’s seen the servant around, occasionally. Merlin calls on him sometimes during feasts and other celebrations to take care of small tasks while he’s preoccupied with the larger ones. He thinks the boy’s name is Robert.

“G-Gaius has requested his presence, sir.” Maybe-Robert stutters out, and Arthur forces himself to take a calming breath and leave the kid alone. He had nothing to do with this after all, and it wouldn’t be wise to have rumors spread of his irritability. Not when Morgana has been returned to them only hours earlier. 

“I see.” He manages to say evenly, “Thank you. You’re dismissed.” He must still be asleep then, which Arthur can’t fault him for. It’s not like Merlin was actively avoiding him.

That doesn’t mean he has to like it though. Huffing, he sulks over to where his food has been placed and begrudgingly makes his way through dinner.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I–what?” There was a lot of information to unpack there. Arthur doesn’t quite know where to start. “Wait, hold on a minute. What Gaius gave you yesterday, that wasn’t magic. It was a sleeping draught.”

It isn’t until mid-afternoon the next day that Arthur manages to herd Merlin into the privacy of his own quarters. 

“Ouch, quit pushing!” He complains as he’s dragged through the doorway and manhandled into Arthur’s rooms.

“Shut up, you should’ve been here hours ago.” Arthur grumbles back, “Why didn’t you bring me breakfast this morning? Don’t you realize how much we have to discuss?” As he speaks, Arthur turns to shove his doors closed, flipping the lock. He won’t make the same mistake twice. 

When he turns back around to face Merlin, he’s met with a poisonous look and a hard scowl. “You shut up. I’ve hardly been awake an hour, not that it feels like I’ve gotten any sleep at all. Remind me to never drink anything Gaius hands me, ever again.” 

Heedless of Merlin’s complaints, Arthur plows ahead with his brilliant new plan. That is, until the words actually register. “I’ve been thinking–Wait, really?”

“Really what.” Merlin grumbles, slumping into one of the chairs at the breakfast table. And he _does_ look rather out of sorts, now that Arthur stops to look at him. Dark bruises paint the skin underneath his eyes, and his face is a few shades paler than normal. His eyes are dull, completely opposite from the sparking fire-gold Arthur has almost gotten used to seeing. 

“Really you just woke up?” He replies curiously, “Gaius said you’d sleep for a few hours at most.” A couple more hours and it would make an entire day. It was very unlike the physician to say one of his potions would last a few hours at most, and then have it last for almost a whole day instead. He used as much precision as possible when talking about his craft.

Merlin’s scowl deepens, and he shifts around in the chair. “Yeah, well, magic tends to affect me differently than normal people. I shouldn’t have touched that potion to begin with, without looking into what he actually put in it.” 

“I–what?” There was a lot of information to unpack there. Arthur doesn’t quite know where to start. “Wait, hold on a minute. What Gaius gave you yesterday, that wasn’t magic. It was a sleeping draught.”

And Merlin is a terrible liar (despite all the successful lying he’s been able to do to keep his head). Arthur doesn’t even have to ask anything else to believe that the potion was magic. “Uhh,” Merlin mumbles, looking much more awake now than he had when he’d walked through the door, “Well, I mean...it was, but also, um, not technically?”

“Merlin,” Arthur starts, rubbing at his temples, “It can’t be that complicated. It was either a magic potion, or a non magical sleeping draught. So, which was it?”

“Well when you put it like that,” Merlin mumbles, crossing his arms and slouching downwards in the chair. Sighing, he tilts his head back. “The recipe itself isn’t magical,” he starts carefully, “Just a normal sleeping draught. But, um, well, I might occasionally, possibly, imbue magic into the herbs Gaius has me go collect. To, you know, encourage a more effective result.” 

Arthur keeps his mouth shut. He takes a deep, calming breath in, and slowly lets it out. Out of everything that he could’ve learned about what type of magic Merlin had been doing in Camelot since he’d been here, this is exactly what he should’ve expected but nothing like what he’d imagined. 

Imbuing herbs with magic to make them more effective. _Of course._ This is the man that cried over a unicorn and got upset when they had to cull the extra chickens. This is exactly the kind of soft-hearted good-intentioned thing he can picture Merlin doing. 

But that doesn’t change the fact that he shouldn’t have been doing it in the first place. “Merlin…” he starts slowly, “I trust I don’t have to tell you to quit doing that.”

Merlin scowls, sticking out his lower lip in a pout. “It works though! None of the knights have been complaining of sore muscles, have they? There’s been less people complaining of catching a chill this winter too.”

This is _not_ how Arthur had pictured this conversation going. “That’s not the point, idiot,” he grits out, rubbing at his temples. “You can’t– you can’t just magic minor inconveniences away like that!”

The stubborn look stays glued to Merlin’s face, although he doesn’t reply. Arthur fixes him with a stern glare. “I’m going to need you to say you understand why you can’t be giving Gaius magic herbs, and that you won’t be doing it any longer.”

Arthur has learned from experience over the years that if Merlin doesn’t verbally say he won’t do something (in exact wording) then that usually means he’s still going to keep doing whatever it was he’s not supposed to be doing - until he’s caught and chewed out or it blows up in his face. 

Typically once Arthur phrases it like this, Merlin will admit defeat and promise not to continue doing whatever it is he’s not supposed to be doing. Today though, his stubborn look morphs into something almost nasty. “Says who?”

Scowling, Arthur crosses his arms. “Says–” _Says your prince and future king._ But, that wasn’t right. On the way back, what had Merlin said? Why did he come to Camelot in the first place?

_Cenred wants sorcerers who would kill for him on command, and the other kings aren’t much different._

What did Cenred and the other kings think of magic? What did they know and understand of it? What gave them the authority to command a sorcerer to kill in their name? The sorcerers that served under them...did they do it out of loyalty, like a knight? Or was there some unknown factor that let them coerce those with magic into bending to their will? 

Did those sorcerers respect their kings, or did they loathe them from the bottom of their hearts?

_You think there wouldn’t be death threats involved, just because I’d be in a kingdom that wouldn’t execute me just for having magic?_

Magic herbs - that was a small, petty, insignificant thing, in the grand scheme of everything. It was something done out of a genuine want to help. It was just, there were too many unknowns. 

So far from Arthur’s perspective, Merlin did not have a good grasp on how to control what he was doing. What if he accidentally did something that hurt someone? The idiot himself had an abnormal reaction to his own magic ingredients - who’s to say others couldn’t also have a bad reaction?

Would it be Arthur’s fault if someone got hurt, for knowing about the magic in advance and doing nothing? Would it be Merlin’s fault, for using the magic in the first place, even if he never had the intention to hurt someone? Who would take the blame? And who would his father sentence to death?

But on the flip side, what kind of person would Arthur be - what kind of king would he become - if he decided absolute authority was an acceptable way to handle magic? Would it stop at just magic, or would it bleed into other aspects of his rule?

His father’s face flashes through his mind, cold and hard, with the orders to _find Morgana._ There had been no ‘or else.’ Just the promise of the king’s wrath if his authority was questioned or he was disobeyed in any way. Uther’s word was absolute, and there was nothing else to say about it. 

Arthur did not want to become the type of king who was only obeyed out of fear. He wanted to become the type of king that people looked to and followed with respect.

The silence of the room is heavy like a thick fog. Merlin sits across from him, a dark look on his face that only gets darker the longer Arthur is quiet. This is wrong. This isn’t how today was supposed to go. He has to fix this. “Says your friend,” he begins finally, making sure to keep his voice even and his gaze steady. “Who is still trying to understand what things look like from your perspective, and who doesn’t want you or anyone else to get hurt.”

The dark look in Merlin’s eyes disappears in an instant, replaced by something careful and blank and _almost_ able to hide the riptide of emotions swirling behind his eyes. Quite frankly, Arthur is surprised the lava-skin hasn’t made its appearance yet. A lingering effect of the unintentional potion, perhaps. 

He sits up straight in the chair, uncrossing his arms and keeping his eyes fixed on Arthur. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. And I’m fine. Just a bit groggy.” 

“Can you be one hundred percent sure that no one else will ever have a bad reaction?” Arthur replies instantly, “And can you be sure you won’t be more than ‘just a bit groggy’ if you ever get dosed with that potion again?” The answer is unquestionably no, at least for now. In the future, once Arthur has painstakingly beat some control into Merlin’s idiodic head, it will be different. But for now, it was closer to a risk than a boon.

Merlin seems to understand that too. His shoulders slump, and that stubborn pout reappears. But it’s the pout of someone who knows they’re arguing a lost battle, and not the pout of someone digging their heels in. “Alright fine, I get it,” he grumbles, “I promise I won’t mess with any of Gaius’s herbs anymore. Not unless it’s necessary or I’m asked to.” He side-eyes Arthur as he says that last bit, almost like he was daring him to say something about it.

But that’s...fair. ‘Necessary’ is subjective, but it all came back around to the same base issue: Merlin didn’t have control, and Arthur didn’t know what magic could and couldn’t do. Between the two of them, he would trust Merlin’s judgement on when it would become necessary. There really wasn’t any other option.

“Thank you,” he sighs, tension draining from his body. “God, you have to make everything complicated, don’t you.” With another sigh, Arthur crosses his room and pulls the other chair at the breakfast table out, plopping down across from Merlin and making a valiant effort to order his thoughts back around towards his original goal for the day. 

“Ha!” Merlin laughs, “Between the two of us, I think it’s you making this more complicated than it needs to be.” 

Arthur looks up, a cunning reply on the tip of his tongue, and pauses. When Merlin had first shuffled through the doorway, he hadn’t looked great. His face had been pale, his eyes glassy and dull. He’d looked like he hadn’t slept a wink all night, despite having been knocked out cold for the majority of an entire day. 

Now though, any trace of exhaustion has been washed away. His skin has regained a healthy (non-lava-like) glow, and his eyes are sharp and bright. A teasing smile creeps at the edges of his lips, and there’s hardly any sign of sleep deprivation underneath his eyes. Arthur can feel a headache coming on just thinking about it - especially when it occurs to him that this is another thing Merlin seems to be unaware that he’s able to do.

Closing his mouth, Arthur takes a minute to observe the sorcerer sitting across from him with a shrewd eye. When asked why he came to Camelot, his first response had been that it was because he was supposed to come live with his uncle. His second response about not wanting to become involved with uncaring kings had made more sense, but...Gaius was a renounced sorcerer. Gaius had already known about Merlin’s magic. The pieces start to click together.

“Merlin,” he starts slowly, watching as the lighthearted humor dims a bit in his eyes at his tone, “Gaius is supposed to be teaching you to control your magic, isn’t he?”

Merlin jerks back like he’s been slapped. “I–What? How did you know that?”

It really was some sort of miracle Merlin hadn’t been caught and exposed before now. Considering everything, Arthur supposes Gaius has been the one keeping his behind out of the fire this entire time. “There are a dozen different places you could go, if your only goal was to keep away from a kingdom who might have designs to recruit you as a battle mage. There are significantly less places you could go to learn magic, while still keeping a low profile. An uncle in the middle of a kingdom who renounces magic - who himself used to be a sorcerer - is probably the safest place you could be.”

Especially considering the fact that Merlin had some sort of gift that allowed him to bypass using spells entirely. It would be hard to trust anyone offering him training, since they would likely have no idea _how_ to train a spell-less sorcerer in the first place, and you could never be sure of their motives. It was a weird thought though, that Camelot might be one of the safest places for a sorcerer to hide out. 

“I–Er. Well. Yeah ok,” Merlin stutters, “My mother sent me here so Gaius could help me get a handle on...um, my magic.” His words cut off awkwardly, like there’s something else he wants to add but decides not to at the last minute. Arthur has a good guess at what it could be though.

“Gaius hasn’t been a practicing sorcerer for many years,” he starts, watching Merlin’s face closely. He doesn’t react to that statement, so Arthur’s going to assume that it’s actually true - the old physician really had renounced sorcery then. “He also doesn’t seem to be aware that you don’t need spells. I can’t imagine he’s been the greatest teacher, all things considered.” 

Merlin winces, slumping back down a bit in his chair. “It’s better than nothing.” He mumbles defensively, avoiding looking Arthur in the eyes.

“Yes,” Arthur agrees easily, because it’s true. Even a shitty swordsmaster as an instructor was better than no instructor at all - you at least got to learn the basics, even if those basics were poorly executed and you’d probably have to relearn them later. Some experience was better than none.

That wasn’t to say Gaius was a terrible master to learn from - he’d trained plenty of incredible physicians himself in the past (which felt weird to think, defending the skills of a magic user) just that he wasn’t the best match to be Merlin’s teacher. “But I’d imagine it’s a bit hard to learn from someone trying to teach you a skill you have no use for.”

Merlin’s shoulders droop. “Thanks for pointing that out. I don’t have much of a choice though, do I?”

Arthur’s heart starts to thump with anticipation, all thoughts of Merlin’s idiodic magic-herb stunts leaving his head (for now). His previous excitement floods through his veins, and he leans forwards with an intense focus. “What if you did?”

\---

It doesn’t take long to gather two horses and his bow, throwing a thick cloak on and bullying Merlin into slipping one over his own shoulders. Arthur alerts the guards at the gate that they’ll be gone on an afternoon trip, and then they’re off. 

They ride along on the main path for a bit, before Arthur turns his horse and leads them onto a small trail. The trail ends after probably fifteen minutes of leisurely riding, dropping off in the middle of the forest. He continues to push them forwards, through the naked, twisting branches and craggily undergrowth. 

Merlin grumbles and complains the whole way, swatting loose branches away from his face. “Arthur, where are we even going?” He whines dramatically. His horse whickers obnoxiously, almost like it understood Merlin’s plight and was agreeing with its dumb rider. 

...Could it? The limitations of Merlin’s magic - of any magic - were unknown to him. Maybe that’s why Merlin got so antsy over hunting or culling farm animals. Could he communicate with them or something?

“Arthur!” Merlin whines again, “You definitely implied you’d found someone to teach me magic. I have no idea where you’d even find someone like that this close to Camelot, but I don’t appreciate being left in the dark here.” 

“Calm down,” he replies, pushing aside thoughts of talking horses and refocusing on their path.

“Calm down, he says,” Merlin mocks, muttering darkly to himself. “I hope you realize I don’t exactly have the greatest record with the sorcerers that like to hang around Camelot. They tend to like murder and mayhem a bit too much.” 

Arthur turns his horse suddenly to the left, coaxing it past a few trees and into the beginnings of a lightly frosted field. The field slopes downwards towards the far edge, transitioning into mucky, rocky sand. Cool lakewater laps at the shore, crystalline in the midday winter sun. “It’s a good thing I haven’t found another sorcerer to teach you magic then,” he replies, throwing a cheeky grin backwards and watching as his words fully register. 

That annoyed pout makes its reappearance, underlined by something that almost looks like disappointment. “Why the ever-loving hell did you drag me all the way out here then?” Merlin snaps out, “It’s freezing, we’re hours from the castle, and there isn’t even–”

Merlin’s annoyed look morphs into something defeated. His shoulders slump, and he yanks harshly at his reins. His horse whinnies at the rough treatment, but dutifully turns around back towards the treeline.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” Arthur almost shouts. First the whole magic-herb debacle, and now Merlin was trying to walk away from him? Today was terrible. The relief of finally finding Morgana and having their months-long quest come to an end hardly mattered in the face of all the whiplash he’d experienced today. 

“Back to the castle,” Merlin huffs, “What was even the point of coming all this way?”

With a quick movement, Arthur adjusts his grip and guides his horse to a stop in front of Merlin’s. “The point,” he bites out sharply, “Is that whatever training Gaius has been putting you through isn’t working. Likely because he hasn’t been an active sorcerer for years, in combination with the fact that you’re apparently not a normal sorcerer to begin with.” 

That stubborn look stays glued to Merlin’s face, although a spark of fiery gold flashes through his eyes now. Which is...good? Maybe good. Or maybe just another sign of his poor control. The flame-skin hadn’t made an appearance yet, despite Merlin’s ever mercurial moods. He was either in a pissier state of mind than earlier in Arthur’s rooms, or purposefully trying to intimidate him into getting out of his way. 

Scowling at the thought, Arthur continues, “You said you don’t get along with the Druids, and I don’t doubt for a minute that you don’t get along with whatever sorcerer decides Camelot’s the best place to take a holiday at - and don’t think I didn’t catch that. We’ll be discussing the fact that you’ve apparently been in contact with other sorcerers near the city at a later time.”

Merlin looks sufficiently cowed at that, but recovers quickly. “So what,” he says darkly, “Are you telling me to fuck off? Is that it? Because it may have slipped your mind, but we can’t discuss anything if I’m not in Camelot anymore.”

Oh. _Oh._ Nudging his horse backwards a step, Arthur tries to see things from Merlin’s perspective. He’d been loaded up on a horse, lured out of the castle under a false implication, and then told his current way of dealing with his magic problem was inadequate. A laugh bubbles its way up Arthur’s throat, and he slumps forwards a bit on his mount as he tries to reorder his thoughts into some semblance of _not fucking this up._

Like everything he’s done today though, that seems to be the wrong reaction in Merlin’s eyes. A sharp breeze kicks up around them, and both horses stomp their feet and huff almost nervously. “Out of the way, Arthur.” 

Drawing himself up, Arthur tries not to look as exhausted as he suddenly feels. “I’m not kicking you out of Camelot,” he starts with a sigh, “And I’m not insulting Gaius, either.”

“Then what are you doing?!” Merlin exclaims, throwing his arms up in the air. A tingle of something sharp and primal pricks at the back of Arthur’s neck, and he fights the urge to shiver. 

“I’m trying to help,” he replies steadily, raising his head to look Merlin in the eye. They spark with gold fire, swirling in beat with his manservants turbulent emotions. A bright flush dances along the skin at the edges of his cloak, and fire licks along the divide between his neck and jaw. The lava-skin had made its appearance. “I’ll be the one teaching you how to control your magic.” 

The flames pulsing across Merlin’s skin blinks out of existence suddenly, leaving the winter chill to seep back into Arthur’s bones. He doesn’t bother repressing his shiver this time, wrinkling his nose at the fact that he hadn’t even noticed the warmth that had bloomed with Merlin’s skin.

“You…” Merlin trails off, “What?”

“You heard me,” Arthur replies, “I’ll be the one teaching you magic.” Taking advantage of his shocked state, Arthur swiftly dismounts from his horse, leading it a few steps closer to Merlin’s and jostling him out of his saddle. 

Merlin complies, seemingly more out of shock than with any comprehension of the situation. He slides to his feet unsteadily, staring at Arthur with blank eyes.

Scowling to himself, Arthur slaps the reins into Merlin’s hands and takes a few steps back. He was an unlikely teacher, yes, but it all came down to the fact that he was really Merlin’s only option here. 

Gaius hadn’t been working, Merlin by himself was clearly struggling to figure things out, and there was no one else besides Arthur who could feasibly provide something like training to help get things under control. He doubted any of the knights that were in-the-know would ever consider something like this, nor would they know where to start. Arthur would not fail. 

“Right,” he says, once Merlin gets his feet under him, and is standing awkwardly to the side of his horse, “Time to get down to it then. Call the fire back.”

Merlin continues to stare blankly at him, gripping the reins loosely in his hands. “...What?” He eventually manages to stutter out weakly.

“You heard me,” Arthur replies with false bravado, wishing he knew what he was doing. “The first exercise I’m assigning you as your new instructor will be to summon the fire back to your skin.” Merlin continues to stare blankly at him though, giving no sign that he understood what was going on. “Hello?” Arthur starts after the silence has gone on a bit too long, “Is there anyone home? I said bring the fire back to your skin, idiot.”

And then, by some miracle, Merlin does. 

A bright flush starts to creep up the sides of his neck. It could almost be mistaken for a full-body blush if not for the vibrant orange-gold patterns that swirl upwards after it, following behind the red glow like a brand. Merlin brings an arm up to rub at his throat, and Arthur can see the fire sliding down his wrists to cover his hands as well.

“Good, good,” Arthur mutters, more to himself than as any form of praise. Concentration had made its way into Merlin’s expression, but there was still an unfocused sort of look flickering behind his eyes. Golden sparks catch in the weak winter sunlight, enhancing the dream-like quality of his gaze. 

Behind him, Arthur’s horse starts to stomp its feet and huff nervously - Merlin’s horse follows suit, jerking its head a bit and trying to back away. This seems to break Merlin from the last bits of his shock. He gives himself a sharp shake, tightening his grip on the reins as he attempts to keep the beast from bolting. 

Arthur takes pity on the animal, knowing from personal experience just how hot the space next to Merlin could get. With a snort, he holds out his free hand, “Pass it here, idiot.” He says smartly, “And then focus on making the fire go away. That’s your second task.”

Merlin purses his lips, narrowing his flickering eyes like he was considering arguing. He wisely decides against it in the end, passing over his reins and taking a few steps to the side. Arthur keeps one eye on him as he takes the horse, leading them both the few small steps back to the treeline and securing them safely out of range. 

When he refocuses his full attention on Merlin, it’s to find the sorcerer with a constipated expression on his face. Heat continues to bubble sluggishly beneath his skin, and Arthur notes with disappointment that the fire had now crept its way over most of his face. 

“Shut up.” Merlin snaps when he notices he’s being watched again, “Don’t say anything.”

Arthur doesn’t rise to the bait though. There was no need to pick another fight - they’d had enough of those today. Instead, he crosses his arms and observes the pitiful attempt at cooling off happening in front of him. 

Whether it had been intentional or not, the fire had bloomed across Merlin’s skin almost without a second thought. If he were to liken it to learning a non-magical skill, he would say...hm. Anyone could technically swing a sword or wield a knife, but not everyone could do it with the skill and precision needed to become an effective fighter. 

Ignoring the fact that the metaphor didn’t quite add up (since Merlin was a weirdo among sorcerers anyways) it was a slightly easier way to look at this issue. Merlin could swing his sword - that is, he could “activate” the magic - easily enough, but didn’t really have the precision to do anything with it, including telling it to die back down. 

“Alright, stop.” Arthur says, after watching Merlin struggle with a cross-eyed expression for a bit longer. “We’re going to try something different.” 

The constipated expression clears from Merlin’s face, although his lips remain downturned in a frown. “Look,” he starts quietly, “I appreciate it Arthur, I really do. But I don’t see how this is gonna work.” His shoulders slump, and a steady stream of foggy smoke puffs out of his mouth as he exhales a sigh. “You said it yourself. You don’t know anything about magic, and this isn’t anything different than what I’ve tried by myself.”

It was relieving to know Merlin hadn’t been waltzing around Camelot without making an attempt at getting himself under control. It was less relieving when he remembered the idiot hadn’t even been aware he’d been setting himself on fire for _months._ But his whining didn’t deter Arthur in the least - he had dozens of fully trained knights’ as proof of his competency as a teacher. Arthur would just have to get a little creative. It wasn’t like there were fighting stances for spell-less magic he could reference. 

...Ah ha!

“Merlin!” He exclaims suddenly, “Hold out your hands.”

“Why?” Merlin replies warily, bringing his hands up close to his chest almost defensively.

With an irritated grunt, Arthur jerks forward and grabs at Merlin's hands, guiding them into a cupped position between the two of them. His skin is warm, but doesn’t burn, and Arthur keeps his hands in place to prevent the idiot from jumping backwards. “Just trust me,” he says, eyeing the swirling red-orange-gold pattern critically. “Now focus - I want you to start a fire in your hands.” 

“Start a– _Arthur.”_

“Just trust me,” he repeats, tilting his head up to look Merlin in the eyes.

He looks...tired. Not physically tired like he’d looked this morning, but mentally tired, like a man who’d received too much bad news all at once. Smoke puffs from his lips in a continuous stream, overpowering the cool, thin wisps that escape from Arthur’s own throat. 

With an exaggerated sigh, Merlin breaks eye contact and turns his bright gaze towards their hands. Nothing changes outwardly, but in the next second a tingling sensation starts to buzz through Arthur’s fingers. 

It’s not heat - or at least, his hands don’t burn. It’s more like...vibrations that reach through his fingertips and deep into his bones. Or, like the feeling of sticking your hands into a snow drift bare, feeling your fingers go so cold that it was almost like you were grabbing hot coals. He fights the urge to rip his hands back, not wanting to disturb Merlin from his task. It doesn’t make the feeling any more pleasant to bear.

His patience pays off though, and in the next second a small flame sparks to life between them. It grows rapidly, twisting into an orb that’s probably just a smidge larger than his closed fist. A bright tail of fire trails upwards, casting a strange double-glow over Merlin’s features. 

Except...It’s not so much of a double-glow now. Merlin keeps his flashing eyes on the flames between them, and as Arthur watches, the color starts to bleed from his skin. It doesn’t disappear entirely, but his face is only reflecting the light of the external fire now, instead of giving off its own glow. 

Sluggish, bright red-orange-gold still nips along his neck, and his hands are brighter than ever (but not hotter - Arthur has no trouble keeping his hands close, as long as he ignores the tingling icy-hot feeling) but it seems like his idea had worked. 

A sword swung without the skill of a fighter behind it was useless. It took years of practice to be able to effectively wield a weapon. Years where you painstakingly learned technique, built muscle memory, and learned the ins-and-outs of fighting. 

His guess was that it worked similarly for magic. A spell cast without the skill of a trained sorcerer behind it was also useless. What happened then, if you didn’t have a spell to begin with? As Merlin had demonstrated: nothing. Or, nothing predictable. 

But if you gave that magic focus, if you gave it a task - light a fire, for example, or “find Morgana”. There was your “spell,” even if it wasn’t spoken aloud. Arthur can only hope that doing enough of these little “tasks” will build enough muscle (magic?) memory in his idiot manservant that he stops lighting himself on fire at the most inopportune times. 

Merlin’s eyes flicker upwards suddenly, locking with his. They are golden and bright, reflecting the fire like a wolf’s predatorial gaze. It occurs to Arthur then that he’s not afraid of Merlin. He hasn’t been from the start, if he thinks about it. He’d been upset, and hurt, and angry, but he’d never been afraid. 

With a (much thinner) puff of smoke and a twitch of his lips, the fire in Merlin’s hands curls into itself and disappears, taking most of the warmth in the air with it. The field they’re in feels much quieter all of a sudden, even though there hadn’t been any noise besides the horses whickering behind them before.

Clearing his throat, Arthur drops his hands and steps backwards. “That was good,” he begins, attempting to force his voice into some semblance of authoritarianism. “Now do it again.”

The afternoon was only halfway over, and Arthur could navigate his way through these forests in the pitch dark. Now that some progress had been made, and _especially_ now that he had a vague sense of what the root of Merlin’s actual problem was, there was no way either of them were leaving this field until Arthur was satisfied with the progress being made. 

Merlin was going to hate him, but it was for his own good. The knights’ always got over their hard feelings, and Merlin would too. Eventually. When he looked back on things, he would definitely be grateful for the training regime Arthur was tentatively planning in his head. For now though, it was just about getting to the point where they could look back on things.

Bright fire sparks to life within Merlin’s hands, once again casting sharp shadows across the sorcerer’s face. The ghostly sting of magic tingles through his fingertips as he watches. _We’ll get there,_ he thinks, _I’ll make sure of it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, alright there we go. Took a bit longer than I expected, but here's the rest of it. 
> 
> I've finally started to crack into some more of the magic-lore I've got planned. Excited to dig into more of it in the next part of this series.
> 
> Happy holidays y'all!

**Author's Note:**

> Comin at y'all with a two-parter. Couldn't seem to find a good stopping point for the first chap, so here we are. Second chap is halfway done, but I've had to pick up some extra shifts at work so not entirely sure when I'll be able to finish it. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> I do have a little something extra I'm planning on posting soon...Merlin POV backstory 👀


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